Hermione, In Style
by Verus Lumen
Summary: Hermione: Smart, beautiful, and In Style. But what happens when she develops an unhealthy relationship with her shoes? Severus, Jealous? Well... no.
1. Placing Bets

Hermione In Style

So I decided to write a fic about Hermione being superficial. Why? Because she deserves it. Awesome. Oh, and for the sake of this fic and my not wanting to rewrite the first chapter, they can all do magic at Grimmauld place because they can't detect magic being done in such closely warded areas. Yeah, that's why o.O

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Bookish, bushy haired mudblood. That's how they had seen her all through school. To be honest, it was exactly had she had been all through school, until her seventh year.

Then, something odd happened. Something remarkable, even. The threat of Voldemort was gone, Harry Potter was gorgeous and available, and Ron Weasley had a new girlfriend, the oh so exotic Parvati Patil.

Her mother had been thoughtful enough to send her subscriptions to Vogue and Noir, with a letter of inspiration to Go Get Him! She'd seen him in the paper, and Hermione didn't know her mother had been talking about Harry Potter until reading the letter over twice. Suddenly, Hermione was inspired to be something other than boring, nerdy, and sore to look at. She was determined to make her seventh and final year….Fun.

Her transformation had taken place at Grimmauld Place. Grimmauld Place, with Harry, Ron, and Ginny present. Not to mention Professor Lupin, Tonks, Alastor Moody and several other Order members. Hermione, feeling reckless, wore her first lacy thong.

And the world felt different. She began to wonder what people would think, or how they would think. Perhaps it was naïve of her to feel this way, but she thought she had caught Moody setting his magical eye in her direction.

She began to set her bushy hair into manageable curls, smooth, sleek and untangled. She applied dabs of muggle perfume on her wrists, on the crooks of her elbows and knees, and behind her ears, in the French fashion. She paid more attention to her clothes; not only the style of the clothes, but the way they fit her. And her shoes. Always the shoes. Her collection was modest at first, but she soon fought an addiction. Being able to transfigure her own shoes out of magazines was not helping her at all, and soon she had to clear out one of Grimmauld Place's hallway closets to house all her pumps, kitten heels, mules, flats and sandals.

Ginny had walked in on her one day.

"Hermione…what're you doing?" Ginny eyed her suspiciously, and Hermione convulsively clutched her shoes to her body.

"Uhm, nothing. Just…organizing," Hermione said, quickly placing her shoes back into their respective Mylar bags.

"Right. Where'd you get all those anyway?" Ginny picked through a few of them and found Hermione's black Ferragamo sandals. "These are gorgeous."

"You can borrow them, I have another pair." Hermione Leviosa'd her shoes back into their little boxes and set them aside. Ginny smiled and put them on.

"Wow, they're so comfortable!" Ginny enthused, wiggling her toes. "Shoes are not this comfortable, especially not the expensive, pretty ones that are supposed to hurt!"

"I've placed a charm on them, a cushioning charm. I think they're the same ones Quidditch players use on their brooms. Extra cushy, isn't it?"

And so it was that Hermione had recruited Ginny into her own love for shoes and anything pretty. Fickle, some would call it. Hermione had seen it as well deserved after fighting in all those filthy battles and having to practically eat mud for years for being muggleborn. Sad, the world.

Hermione fished around in one of her closets for the day's outfit. It was warm out, summer saw to that. Harry and Ron would be flooing out to France today, and Hermione didn't see why she shouldn't do some shopping in Paris while they were out. Ginny heartily agreed.

Now, they had all been indoors for a while, and Hermione really didn't want to look pasty because of it. It was simple to use a tanning charm and have at it, but it was also dangerous to fall into the trap of Getting it Even and becoming darker and darker until she was no longer recognizable. She opted for dark long jeans, Coach sandals and a long, lacy camisole. It didn't matter what she did or didn't do today. She looked good.

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It was with mixed emotions that Hermione returned to Hogwarts for a new term. She was certainly happy to return to her books and magic and history, but a certain part of her ached at the choice of outfits. Black robes with tacky pointy hat or black robes without tacky pointy hat. What a pool of decisions, really.

"Hermione, I just love your shoes," Parvati said, clinging very girlishly to Ron Weasley, who had a pleased expression because everybody got to see who his girlfriend was.

"Oh, aren't they pretty? I got them from Prague." She hooted pleasantly. Mingling was so different now that she didn't feel as if people were looking down on her. She felt somehow…stronger.

Hermione had on a pair of small, black chandelier earrings on and they sparkled cheerfully from behind her hair, which also sparkled cheerfully. Everything seemed cheerful now, people were smiling at her.

And now it was the real test, to see if it really was noticeable. Draco Malfoy came strutting through the hallway to the Great Hall. Normally, he didn't look at who he was pushing around. He just plowed on through, expecting people to move out of his way in fear. At least the hulking weight of Crabbe and Goyle would make sure of that. Hermione squared her shoulders and set her face to Happy, But Don't Push It, Pal. And he did notice. In fact, he did more than notice. He actually stumbled over himself to avoid knocking into her. She never stopped or even acknowledged his presence, just kept click click clicking to the doors of the Great Hall, noticing with some amount of satisfaction that Draco seemed taken aback.

She stood with her back straight for perhaps the first time in her career at Hogwarts. She was no longer encumbered by the sheer weight of books on her back, and she was certain that she never would be again. It may have been quite dim of her, but it took her six years to realize that there were several spells available with which she could shrink, lighten or just transfigure books. No more books bags would be harmed in the process of her education.

What was, perhaps, most satisfying was Professor Severus Snape staring at her without recognizing her. He just looked at her, looked at Neville, and looked at her again before sneering, "Granger."

Perhaps this was all she needed. Her seventh year already looked to be the most rewarding out of her entire career at Hogwarts, and it was just getting started.

And was it just her, or did Professor Snape just take a peek at her shoes?

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So hey, everybody! What do you think? I know, I know, I know. Okay, well, I don't. So you have to tell me what you think! Because I am so psyched about this fic. It'll be complete hilarity. Anyway, I just need to take a little break from the SERIOUSNESS of Scented, 'cause it's getting to be soooooooo stressful. I know I started another fic too, but I don't' know if I'll continue with that. The plot seems kind of flat. and that's pretty bad, because by the second chapter I have Severus smoking pot and Hermione swearing not to tell anybody and practically throwing herself at him. Ugh. And we all think Severus needs a little fashion update anyway. Don't hide it, I know you wanna see him in La'coste!


	2. Ron finds solace in the shoe

Uhm, right. Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't know who exactly owns him nowadays, but I can tell you it ain't me. Don't worry, my grammar ain't not this bad in the story you're gonna hafta be readin'.

"Ron, you have absolutely no brain in that inflated head of yours, do you?" Good God, they were fighting again. Hermione played some mental Mozart and drowned out the argument.

"I already told you, I don't know where that shoe came from! I wasn't doing anything!" Ron defended himself, rather half heartedly.

"It was under your bed!" Parvati practically screamed. "Who're you fucking? I saw you talking to that snotty little Ravenclaw the other day. She'd wear these slutty stilettos!" She was getting rather hysterical at this point, and Hermione decided to intervene.

"Wait a second, what shoe?" Hermione sounded genuinely concerned, but her sincerity might have been a little questionable as she was speaking to the rhythm of Moonlight Sonata.

Parvati and Ron both turned to her looking confused, probably thinking that their argument had been quiet and civil.

You could hear the rusty cogs in Parvati's mind turning, "Well, I found this…this shoe under his bed."

She held it out on one finger, doubtless trying to keep her hands clean. Hermione gasped, "That's my shoe!"

And the rusty cogs turned a little faster, "You two…You two are -"

"NO!" Hermione and Ron exclaimed together, incriminating themselves just a tad. Ron gasped, and you could hear his embarrassment, "I-I didn't. Not with Hermione. I'm sorry, but…but-"

Parvati rolled her eyes and looked squarely at Hermione, "He takes forever to explain himself. Every time."

"No! It's…just don't laugh, alright?" Ron murmured through his clamped teeth. Apparently, Hermione's cogs turned a little faster than Parvati's. He had been wearing her shoes. He had been wearing her strappy, three inch stilettos and strutting around in his room.

She thought of something quick, "Parvati, it's just that I was trying to make him try on my shoes. I thought I'd lost one of them, but I brought all this stuff up with me."

"Wh-what're you saying?" Parvati glanced frantically from Ron to Hermione. Hermione couldn't be exactly sure what was going on in her head, but it seemed to be evolving very slowly.

"Look at Ron's cheekbones." Hermione pointed at them, and Ron's eyes widened with something between fear and curiosity. Parvati glared at the cheekbones. They were, unarguably, quite gorgeous.

"He's a little girly, isn't he? Tall, thin, girly. So I put him in drag." Hermione carefully inspected her fingernails as The Girlfriend thought it out.

And really, it was very surprising when she'd shouted, "Show me!"

"What!" Ron screamed, frantic and blushing like mad.

"There's no point in hiding it, Ron. They had to find out some time." Hermione let out a loud pretend-sigh, a pretend-frown and a pretend-look of resolve. "I'll show you. Come on, I've got loads of stuff that fits him in my room."

Parvati still looked fairly doubtful, but Hermione managed to usher the strange couple into her room. As head girl, she was allowed to console Persons-In-Distress in her chambers, which included a very Dobby-inclusive tea service.

"Now Parvati, just wait outside while I get him dressed," She managed to gently kick Parvati out, and then she turned to Ron, "Soooo, Ron. Can you walk in them?"

He looked a little downcast, but managed to reply, "Kind of. I'm-I'm getting used to the taller ones."

"So how long have you been borrowing my shoes?"

He cast his eyes down and said in a tiny voice, "Grimmauld Place."

She raised her eyebrows, took in a deep intake of breath, and lit up a cigarette.

"Hey, wont you get in tro-"

"Nope. They haven't got any school rules against smoking cigarettes. Frankly, I don't think Wizards really know what they are. And as Head Girl, I'll take the liberty of exercising my rights," She said all of this between little puffs of smoke, "Now, Follow Me."

"Where're we-"

"My closet."

"Isn't this your closet?" He asked, pointing to a dismally miniscule cave of a closet

"Well, Parvati said she wanted to see you in drag. And I've got this gorgeous dress for you." She lead Ron to a room hidden behind numerous tapestries of old women making puree out of living ducks. Gruesome, the dark ages.

Fifteen minutes later, Ron was dazzling in a green silk Oscar de la Renta cocktail dress, Gold two and a half inch Jimmy Choo sandals and amber chandelier earrings. He looked. Like a girl.

"I can't…uhm, breathe. Do I really need to wear this?" He said, pulling uncomfortably on The Bra (which she was planning to burn after he wore it…or perhaps give to him if he planned on dressing drag often).

"Of course! Without it, you look like a cardboard cut out!" Hermione shaped the silicone into something more conical as the left side was hanging a bit off center. "Now go and sit over there, on the bed. No! Don't sit like that, for goodness' sake, have you no dignity? You're a girl! Act like one. There now, cross your legs…okay fine, your ankles, and sit with your back straight. Good, good. I'll just be a second."

Hermione rushed out, giddy, into the corridor outside of her room. She and Parvati giggled together until she remembered what, exactly, she was giggling about. "Right, right. Come in now, he's actually quite feminine."

And of course, she'd had to say this while Ron was sitting cross-legged on the bed, picking things out of his toes through those once gorgeous Jimmy Choo shoes. Hermione sighed in deep drama, and lit another cigarette. "Anyway, he was gorgeous right up until now. I present to you the abominable She-Ape."

It didn't matter. Parvati was rolling on the floor in hysterical laughter anyway, Ron was pleasantly surprised by the comfy snugness of wireless bras and Hermione was spared the indignity of having to Scourgify her entire room. Perhaps except the last bit. Oh well.

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Harry leaned over and whispered in Hermione's ear, "What have you done to Ron?"

She gave him a hurt look and replied, "It wasn't me. Parvati made him come out dressed like that, in my clothes might I add, as punishment for trying to lie to her."

"Oh, punishment." Harry nodded in agreement though he probably didn't know what he was agreeing about, "Then…then why does he look like he's enjoying it?"

Well, actually. He sort of really did look like he was enjoying it, but Hermione decided to spare Ron the humiliation of bringing him out of the closet, as it were. It would probably do nothing but hurt, anyway, so the shoe incident was left decidedly _in _the closet.

She glanced over at the Head Table to gather reactions (like she always did) and was rewarded with a handsome laugh from the oh so formidable Albus Dumbledore, a nervous titter from Professor Sprout and the usual Deep Scowl courtesy of Severus Snape. Wait a second…

O, Hark the Angels Sing! Professor Snape was smiling, and smiling at nothing less than the ridiculous spectacle of Ron Weasley dressed in drag. He turned to Hermione, doubtless aware that the clothes did indeed belong to her. He raised his eyebrow in the suggestive manner that teachers do, and coughed into his coffee.

That damned coffee. But she was going off on her tangent. Professor Snape had just coughed into his coffee, which was equivalent to at least three barks of laughter from anybody else.

Harry elbowed her quite painfully in the side, "Hey, is Snape laughing?"

"_Professor_ Snape, Harry. And no, he's not laughing. He's coughing."

"Yeah, but that's pretty much the same thing as rolling on the floor when it comes to him, isn't it?" Harry asked, eyebrows asunder.

"Watch it, Harry, you'll hurt yourself. We should just leave him alone. He'll be humiliated enough when students get wind that he's capable of finding anything at all even remotely funny." Hermione laughed into his ear, which probably looked naughty to some of the teachers as Professor McGonagall was even now walking toward them with a stick in her hand. Well, it was her wand, but scary nonetheless. Hermione used to go to a private Catholic school, and nuns with sticks were scarier than Stigmata.

"I'm not here to congratulate you, if that's what you're thinking. You two will behave in a manner befitting of the Great Hall of our esteemed school or I will, I repeat, I will Rock You."

Hermione sputtered, "Excuse me?"

"I said I will Dock Points!" McGonagall was looking fairly puce at this point, and she had even caught Ron's attention.

"Oh, oh, is that it?" Hermione breathed out a sigh of relief. She didn't know how far she could go if Professor McGonagall had lost her mind as well, "Er, you should probably know, Harry and I aren't…uhm, together."

There was an awed hush throughout the room as the long argued-over not-so-secret school rumor was shredded to pieces. "I…see. Well, I believe I have a bottle of Ogden's from Professor Flitwick. Good day, children." And off she went to the head table.

"Harry. That was weird."

"Yes. Uhm, weird." Harry responded, and Ron proceeded to flirt with boys across the room. A few didn't recognize him and flirted back.

Severus Snape watched her with a small look of surprise. She kept her eyes on him as he glanced from Ron to Harry to herself. She looked at his shoes. Were those…Beatle Boots???

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Okay, so you will tell me if this chapter made any sense. I didn't proofread at all and I haven't even read it once. I'm tired as fuck and I haven't had a cigarette in three days, so I'm carrying my addiction over to the Hermione you all thought you know and love. Criticism accepted, though heartily despised (but welcomed anyway) I have an odd personality, but I wont lie to you. I hate it when I'm wrong, but I always am. So pretty much I hate myself and I want to die. No just kidding, but really. Good luck decoding.

Lovingly and most Lovingly,

Jenny Yun


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